


The Coldest Goodbye to The Warmest Hello

by Fell_Incarnation



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, maybe mentions of severe injuries, maybe some smut but it'll be a while, mostly angst at first, when things like injuries happen there will be a warning at the start of the chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:54:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fell_Incarnation/pseuds/Fell_Incarnation
Summary: After World War II, nearly all of Cynthia's field agents were let go. She's decided she needs to train some new, young recruits to make sure America is on par with Great Britain in the event of another war. Who better to train than Curt Mega, and who better to train him in the field than one of the youngest and best spies working with the Brits, Owen Carvour.The only issue is the pair seem to hate each other's guts.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 16
Kudos: 84





	1. Remember What I Told You

**American Secret Service HQ, 1947**

"Did you understand any of that, Mega?"

"Course I did. Wear the tuxedo, steal the important paper."

"Do you remember _which_ important paper?"  
.

.

.

"Ugh, I should've figured. This is the problem with all you young men-"

"You're only eight years older than me."

"You all say you want to be a spy, but really you just want to look cool and feel important."

"Hey, it's not just looking cool. I also want to drink."

"That's not any better." Cynthia had spent the past hour explaining various basic missions and events to expect in this line of work, very few of which the new Agent Curt Mega actually retained. She took a long drag of her cigarette, trying to think of an easier way to teach all of this. Curt obviously wasn't going to be able to focus and remember everything she told him, but there had to be a way to get it to stick in his head.

"Am I gonna have a partner?"

And suddenly, the idea struck. "Susan, make a call."

* * *

"Don't fuck this up, Mega. We haven't worked with the Brits since the end of the war. We need to prove to them that we're still functional." Cynthia straightens Curt's tie. "Be mature. Don't fuck it up. Leave a good impression."

"You can count on me." Curt smiles, a stupid looking smile. The smile of someone who hadn't witnessed the heartwrenching life of a spy firsthand yet. Cynthia turns on her heel, lights another cigarette, and sighs.

"I hope I can."

* * *

**Farmer's Market**

"Truly, do I need to spend my time tutoring an American? I was under the impression I was a more valued employee than that." ... "Yes, I understand we must maintain positive relations with other countries, but why must _I_ do it?" ... "Fine. But I expect compensation for my time being wasted."

"Excuse me, are you Owen?"

Ah, and there he was. "I am. To whom do I owe the pleasure." He still hadn't looked at Curt.

"Mega. Curt Mega. Nice to meet you." It was then that Owen finally glanced at him. He extended his hand.

"Mhm." The pair shake hands and Curt feels a card of some kind sticking out of Owen's sleeve, barely touching his fingertips. It must be a test. Cynthia's advice echoes through his mind, telling him he should try and steal the card off of him. And suddenly he had a business card hidden in his palm.

"Nice catch. Though you could manage to be a little less obvious next time." Curt looks away, sliding the card into his pocket. "We should get going now, don't want to leave those blueprints waiting, hm?" Owen says, motioning for the pair of them to get moving out of the market. 

* * *

**Weapons Facility**

"So, Mega, why is your boss having me babysit you for this mission?" Owen asks while they walk through the empty facility.

"You aren't babysitting me. I could've done this on my own."

"Oh? Then why did Cynthia need to call for one of the best agents currently in the field to go with you?"

"Guess they just needed someone who could almost compare to my raw skill." Of course, Curt was all talk. He had no idea if he could use his gun if it came to that, or even if he could attempt a stealthy response to an alarm sounding. Owen, however, appeared so confident and effortless when describing his abilities that Curt _had_ to retort with just as much cockiness. 

The conversation died at that point, and Curt had his first quiet moment since entering Cynthia's office this morning. Approximately a week prior, she had decided that since her presentations weren't effective that she should send him straight into the field, with a more experienced agent to support him. Once she decided this, she sent him home and told him to watch for a message from her in the coming days. Then, this morning he woke up to a message from Cynthia, telling him to be in her office, dressed for a field mission by 8:15. By the time he finished reading, it was already 7:45. His hair was still damp from his shower by the time he got to HQ, but he was on time. As soon as he was in the office everything on him was being adjusted. Cynthia was putting a gun in his suit jacket, a strange earpiece in his ear, and straightening everything on him until it was perfect. She had seemed more nervous than he was. His reflection on the morning was cut short when one of Owen's arms swung in front of him.

"Shh. Someone's coming."

"I thought this place was supposed to be empty!"

"Not everything goes as planned, Mega."

The pair quickly stopped their hushed argument when the distant footsteps sounded significantly closer. Owen puts a finger to his lips and looks at Curt, making sure he stayed silent. The footsteps paused right in front of their hiding place. The only sound Curt could hear was that of his own rapidly beating heart. How Owen could look so calm he had no idea.

A moment passed.

And then another.

And then... The footsteps left. Once the sound was only a faint echo, Owen stood back up, offering a hand to help Curt up. Curt made a point to not take it. 

"The blueprints should be in the room just ahead of us, but we need to be careful. We didn't account for security guards being here today to patrol."

"Well, why didn't you do that?" Curt asks, tilting his head at Owen, his tone laced with mockery.

"Because today the facility was meant to be closed, no employees allowed in." Owen replies, sighing in annoyance. "Now, Mega, we need to get into a heavily guarded locked room to get those blueprints. I need you to keep watch of the hallways and create a distraction if necessary so I can get in."

"Got it." Curt nods at Owen as the pair reach the intersection of the hallway with another. The door is right in front of them, but so are three directions for enemies to approach from.

"Remember what I told you?"

"Watch the halls, create a distraction." And with that, Owen gets to work picking the lock. Curt diligently watches the hallways, waiting to hear the _click_ of the door unlocking. 

"Be ready to make a run for it." Owen says as he unlocks and opens the door, slipping inside and presumably grabbing the blueprint.

As the door swings back open, Curt looks in. "Behind you!" He shouts before raising his gun and shooting. He didn't have very much faith in his chances of actually hitting the man behind Owen, but much to his surprise, the bullet landed in the unknown man's side. Unfortunately, it wasn't a lethal shot, giving the enemy time to press a panic alarm, which promptly began sounding throughout the facility. 

"Run!" Owen yelled, already ahead of Curt. The pair sprint across the building, jumping right back out of the first-floor window. "Not bad for your first time in the field, Mega." Owen shoves the blueprints into Curt's arms, walking back into the crowd of the farmer's market.

* * *

**American Secret Service HQ**

"I'm impressed. And so are the redcoats." Cynthia takes a long drag from her cigarette. "I think this means you've finished your training. Welcome to the Secret Service, Agent Curt Mega."

* * *

**???**

Owen lays in bed, thinking through the events of the day. He couldn't get a read on Curt, at least, not a very strong one. He could tell that the arrogance was at least partially illegitimate, but anything past that was covered by fog. All he knew was that he truly despised Agent Curt Mega. No matter if he saved him, he couldn't care less. The man meant below nothing to him. And yet, he couldn't seem to take his mind off of him.


	2. Loathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! If you're interested in this fic it'd be really helpful for me if you could take this quick three-question survey. [Right Here!](https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/7VF7FQS)  
> It's to help me get my shit together with how I'm going to handle the progression of this plot and it'd be really helpful if some people could respond to it! Thank you!  
> Also, there is a mention of blood and injury in this chapter, so make sure you watch out for yourself.

**American Secret Service HQ**

"I don't want to work with him again."

" _What_ did you just say to me?"

"I don't want to work with him."

"You come into _my_ office, interrupt _my_ phone call with the President of the United fucking States, to tell me that you 'don't want to work with Owen'?" Cynthia lights a cigarette. "God, Mega, why not? What's your problem?"

"He's so-" Curt moves his hands wildly. "Arrogant! And he thinks he's above me!"

"He is above you. He's been working with MI-6 for two years. That's two more than you've been working for me." Cynthia was right; Curt sighs in resignation. “Now, you’re lucky you came in today, I had a mission prepared for another agent, but they are injured and being monitored by our team of scientists. This mission is a higher risk than I would typically send a rookie on, but it appears you’re my only option. Susan? Turn on the projector." Once the presentation appears on the screen in her office, she walks to the other side of the room, heels clicking against the floor.

"There have been threats made to the safety of the government officials of Poland. Now, as you know, Poland has been targeted several times by enemy powers, and if we can swoop in to save them that will put us in a more advantageous position for foreign relations with them. Ideally, I would have a skilled and experienced spy go out to complete this mission, but..." She pauses; if only her higher-ups hadn't fired so many of her good agents after the end of the war. "You'll have to do."

"When am I leaving?"

"Your flight departs in an hour. I'll call you a cab. There will be an informant waiting at the airport for you, Susan will tell you what to say as you're leaving." Cynthia saunters back to her desk, sitting down and putting her feet up. "Oh, and one last thing."

"Hm?"

"You'll have a partner."

* * *

**Warsaw Chopin Airport, Poland**

The flight was mind-numbingly boring, but it at least gave Curt a chance to think about the mission, what he had to do, and who his partner could be. He began his walk through the airport, looking for the small food cart he was told his informant would be found at. He almost thought he was lost before rounding a corner and seeing a pierogi cart. "Do they have wild blueberries? I've heard they're to die for."

"I didn't know they were in season." Curt grins at the person's response, muttering 'fuck yeah' under his breath. "What is it, sir?"

"I thought it'd be impossible to find an informant in such a big airport. I'm impressed I spotted you."

"I was right beside your terminal." Looking to both of their lefts Curt finds that yes, the informant was right next to where he got off the plane. Unfortunately, Curt chose to start walking the other direction before looking around, meaning he walked around an entire airport for no reason.

"Well- never mind that, what do you have for me?"

"You have a weapon waiting for you in the safe of your hotel room, the code is zero-six-two-one." The informant pulls out a slip of paper. "This is where you're going. A cab with your partner inside will be arriving in front of the side door of your hotel in two hours, give the driver the paper."

"Anything else?"

"You'll be on the second floor of the building. Your partner can fill you in on the rest." And with that, the informant bought a wild blueberry pierogi and walked deep into the crowd of the airport. Now the only question left on Curt's mind was who his partner was going to be.

* * *

**Hotel Bristol, Poland**

The ride to the hotel was about half an hour and the checking in process took at least another half hour, if not longer. This meant that Curt had around an hour to get all of his things together and be prepared for the mission. He found that he was already exhausted from the flight and ride to the hotel, and decided to take a shower to wake himself up.

Once he was finished showering, getting into his suit, and preparing himself emotionally for a high stakes mission, he had about twenty minutes left. It was time to finish gathering the last of his things.

Curt mumbled the code to the safe to himself as he put it in, tensing when the door didn't immediately release. Did he put the code in wrong? How many chances would he get before it stopped letting him try? What if- _Beep._ The small safe door swung open, showing Curt the small handgun inside. He picked it up, sliding it into his breast pocket after double-checking that it had ammo, and left the room. He walks to the main floor of the building and made his way to the side entrance that he was told he'd be picked up at. The cab hadn't arrived yet, allowing him a chance to wonder who would be sitting beside him when it did.

He's hardly outside for five minutes when a honk startles him out of his thoughts.

"Agent Mega."

_God dammit._

"Carvour. Nice to see you again."

"It appears we'll be more than seeing each other. You're my partner on this mission."

_Fuck this._

"You see, I expected to see a competent agent standing outside waiting for the cab, and then as I'm riding over I get a call from my higher up telling me that it was going to be you instead."

"Shocking."

"I'm glad you agree. Now then, let me explain our mission to you."

* * *

**Nonspecific Government Building, Poland**

"So, there's supposed to be some kind of attack on this building tonight and we're supposed to stop it, eh?"

"Stop talking like that. But yes, that is our goal." Owen was already frustrated. An entire cab ride with Curt Mega does that to a man.

The pair walk soundlessly through a large room filled with various pieces of culturally valuable art and official documents on display.

"You're going to have to use your gun tonight, Mega." Owen whispers as they slide through an open door. "Make sure you're prepared to do that."

"I've already used my gun. Saving you. Remember?" Curt asks incredulously, making Owen turn around and continue walking in silence.

After another several minutes of walking, Owen pipes up again.

"We're close to where they're supposed to be breaking in and in about five minutes they'll be arriving. Until then, find a place to hide." Owen slinks off to find cover behind a small podium while Curt takes a minute to look for the best place to hide. Throughout Curt's process of finding the best place to take cover, Owen is constantly whisper-yelling at him to just get behind something.

Just in time to be fully concealed, Curt decides on his hiding place: under a small set of stairs leading to a raised section of the room. He makes sure he has eyes on Owen to watch for his signal to shoot, slowing and quieting his breathing. 

The silence only lasts so long, though, before the unknown attackers begin walking around the room, checking for spies. Curt freezes up, he can hear footsteps closing in on him and Owen still hasn't made a move. He can't seem to slow his heart down and every time he blinks he squeezes his eyes as hard as he can. He's about to die, he can tell. And Agent Carvour is simply sitting behind his podium, his gun lazily dangling in his hand. The footsteps close in on the opening in the stairs and Curt shuts his eyes. The end has come.

_Thump._

Curt opens his eyes to see the intruder unconscious on the ground, Owen standing in their place. He has a smug look on his face. Curt hates it.

A bullet zooms through the space between them, pulling them both back into real life. Curt takes out his gun. The two of them face off against a much larger group of opponents, trying to maintain a level of cover while still shooting to kill. The fight is quicker than either of them anticipated; once one of the masked assailants was shot down, a majority of them jumped back out through the window. After that, it wasn't hard to aim for the last couple of cronies who didn't run. Owen got the edge of his ear sliced when a bullet just barely grazed him and Curt had various scratches and a bruise from when one of the larger attackers slammed him onto the peeling wood flooring, but otherwise, the two appeared unscathed. 

"I shot the man off your chest. Now we're even." Owen says as he begins the walk back out of the building.

* * *

**Hotel Bristol, Poland**

Curt sits on the floor of his hotel room's shower while he cleans up his wounds. He had decided that he hated Owen as he made his way back to the hotel a few minutes earlier. Owen seemed to have no desire to befriend or respect Curt, so why should he consider doing the same? Washing away the blood from his arms gave him a chance to think about how he felt about things. About being a spy, about the mission, about Owen. He could only get one thing out of those thoughts.

He hated Owen Carvour.


	3. An Undesirable Delay

**Jorge Newbery Airfield**

"We'll try to get you tickets to the next available flight. Susan got a hold of your hotel and got you another night. Don't do anything unreasonable out there, if you do something stupid it fucks me over. Be ready to go at any point in the night."

Curt flung himself back onto the chairs lined up in front of the gate he was supposed to be departing from. Cynthia had promptly hung up on him after explaining that his flight home was canceled and that he would be stuck in Argentina for an unknown amount of time. They had apparently _tried_ to get him a replacement flight but told him that nearly every flight coming out of this airport was canceled. Cynthia did tell him why.

His thoughts of disdain towards having to stay another night after running out of clean clothes were suddenly interrupted by another call from Cynthia.

"Did you get a new flight?"

"Better. The flight MI-6 had booked for Owen got canceled, too."

"That is better." Curt comments; at least he knew his rival was just as stuck as he was.

"I wasn't finished. They got him booked on another flight and managed to reserve you a seat with him. They didn't tell me when it departs, which means you're going to need to find Owen and ask him. We'll see you soon."

This didn't feel any better than being stranded to Curt. Sure, he got a ticket home... But he had to deal with working with Carvour longer than he was being compensated for. That was far worse.

After another round of mental complaining, he hears a certain voice approaching him.

"Yes, I see him." ... "Do I really have to-" ... "Yes, I understand. Goodbye." Owen turns his attention to Curt. "Mega, stand up. We've got a taxi to catch."

* * *

The taxi pulls up in front of the airport and both spies climb in.

"We'll be returning to your hotel, Mega. MI-6 wants us to stay together so neither of us miss our flight."

"Of course." Curt murmurs under his breath.

"What was that?"

Curt freezes. "Nothing. When's our flight?"

"It's going to be departing at around three in the morning."

"Are you kidding?"

"Not every emergency flight can take off at a leisurely mid-day, Mega."

Damn. Made a fool of again. Curt resigns to sitting in silence and staring out the window.

* * *

**Plaza Hotel Buenos Aires**

The pair were checked in fairly quickly; Curt could only assume it was because Cynthia was frustrated when she called and that convinced the staff to work fast for them. As soon as Curt was in the room, he flopped onto the surprisingly comfy hotel bed he had slept on the past few days.

"Mega, really? You haven't even taken off your shoes." All this received from Curt was a very rude hand gesture.

After about an hour of Curt seemingly napping while Owen sat on the chair opposite the bed reading, he spoke again, waking Curt.

"I suppose if we're here until half-past two we may as well try and learn more about each other."

"What do you mean?" Curt asks, his voice groggy and eyes barely open.

"Well, we've been partners on several missions, yet all I know about you is that you're an arrogant, brash American full of dumb luck. If MI-6 plans on sending me on more missions with you, I figure I should know a little more than that."

"As insulted as I am at you calling me dumb, I guess you have a point."

And so the pair spent the remaining several hours until their flight discussing various facts about their lives. Curt explained how when he was younger he wanted to be a spy in the Second World War, but his mother didn't want him working as a spy during a war. Owen explained that he began working for MI-6 the last year of the war, in 1945, out of a desire to combat how much communication during the war was done in secret. That desire was what made him such a skillful spy, his motivation. Curt didn't want to say it out loud, but his reason for becoming a spy was wanting to be cool, strong, and a person who could save people. When he did say it out loud, Owen chuckled.

"That's the first time I've heard you laugh."

"It's the first time I've shown you any emotion, Mega." He pauses, debating whether to continue. "You know, Mega, after these months of my superiors seemingly trying to get me killed by sending me on missions with you, I’ve started to begrudgingly… Respect you."

"What?"

"You've shown your competency. You're a good charmer, and you've got a good eye. While I may not have any desire to interact with you further, I do have to give you credit. You're as good as I was when I first started."

"I-" _Beep._ Curt's reply was cut off by Owen's watch alarm going off.

"Alright, time to go, Mega. Don't forget anything here."

* * *

**Jorge Newbery Airfield**

The taxi ride back to the airport went significantly faster, and whether that was due to the lessened tension between the pair of spies or because the taxi driver was definitely driving over the speed limit was anybody's guess.

Walking to their gate was quicker, too. The airport was far more empty than it was earlier that day. They had managed to check their bags and be comfortably seated before the plane was boarding, which was always a success. Though travel was always quick with Curt; he picked up languages fast when Cynthia would brief him on what country he would be traveling to. He would be speaking conversationally in less than a month.

"You look tired." Owen points out to Curt, who was leaning very heavily to one side with half-lidded eyes.

"I don't usually fly in the middle of the night."

"Well, technically this is the early morning but-"

"Shut up."

The pair had finally started to feel less disrespect towards one another, which would prove to be a major win for Cynthia, because it meant she could send Curt on more missions with Owen and keep up the appearance of having a 100% success rate with MI-6.

When the plane finally started boarding, Owen and Curt were some of the earliest people to board. They had gotten seats beside each other- Curt in the middle seat and Owen in the aisle. And, according to Owen's superiors, there was no one sitting at the window seat. Neither of them especially cared about the window seat; Curt wanted to sleep and didn't like how his head would hurt if he leaned against the window and Owen liked being able to stand up. It became a seat for their carry-on. 

Nearly immediately after the plane took off, Curt was barely conscious. This led him to make what he knew would be the most embarrassing decision of his life, partially out of not being able to think from exhaustion, and partially due to not being able to hold his head up. He rested his head on Owen's shoulder. He knew he would regret it later, but he was far too tired to think about those repercussions now. He fell asleep as soon as his head was on his shoulder and slept soundly for the rest of the flight.

Unbeknownst to Curt, Owen had a soft smile on his face. After the initial shock and stiffening of his posture, he couldn't help but shift to try and make the position more comfortable for Curt. If someone asked, he wouldn't be able to explain _why_ he cared about how comfortable he was, and yet he did. He was glad Curt was so soundly asleep; he wouldn't have to worry about him knowing that even after standing up periodically to stretch, he would put Curt's head back in its position on his shoulder.


	4. As Good As A Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning! There's an injury in this chapter, blood is mentioned a few times, as are guns.

After their last mission, Curt and Owen’s rivalry had reached more of a respectful rivalry rather than a malicious one. Plus, they successfully silently agreed to never discuss Curt sleeping on Owen’s shoulder on the flight home. They were both sleep-deprived, or at least that was how Curt explained the whole situation to himself. Now, weeks later, he found himself sitting in Cynthia’s office while she explained his next mission.

**American Secret Service HQ, 1948**

“We’ll try to make sure you don’t lose your flight home again-”

Curt straightens his posture at the reminder of that last flight.

“-but MI-6 has told me they are committed to helping our end in situations like that one. Thanks to you and our other new spies, we’re being taken seriously and valued by international groups.”

“Well, I am very good at my job. Never failed a mission, never will fail a mission. Dare I say it I might be the best spy you’ve-”

Cynthia sighs loud enough to shut Curt up. “Okay, fuck you, if you get stranded in Bulgaria I am not going to help you. Get out of my office. Arrogant prick.” She lights a cigarette as Curt leaves, putting her feet up on her desk.

* * *

Curt sits on the plane, cramped. He was trying to read but the combination of both his discomfort in the seat and the person sitting beside him standing up repeatedly made it nearly impossible. Eventually, he gave up on trying to do something other than glancing at the airline magazine in front of his seat.

* * *

**Sofia Airport, Bulgaria**

At this point it had become the expectation that Owen would be waiting for him in the airport- MI-6 always seemed to get him on flights that arrived earlier so recently they’ve stopped providing Curt with an informant, instead just trusting Owen to brief him. So, once Curt got off the plane he began searching the crowds for a tall man with slicked-back hair.

“Hello, Mega.”

“Jesus- how do you still manage to surprise me?” Curt asks, steadying himself after jolting when Owen greeted him.

“No idea. Now then, our hotel is just down the street-”

“Wait-wait-wait. Our hotel?”

“Yes, Mega. It was cheaper to rent out two rooms in the same hotel, and given how much we work together you can’t really be that surprised.”

Curt sighs in defeat, motioning for Owen to continue.

“We’ll be infiltrating a nefarious group’s secret meeting. I’ve been told to be prepared for a shoot out, and you should too.”

“Nefarious? What kind of loser says nefarious?”

Owen simply rolls his eyes and ignores the comment. “The taxi is waiting outside. We only have a couple of hours before we need to be at the location.”

* * *

**Princess Sofia Hotel, Bulgaria**

The pair were sitting together on the edge of the bed in Curt’s hotel room.

“One of us could die tonight.” Owen says.

“But we won’t.”

The room falls back into silence. A single beep on Owen’s watch makes them both stand up.

“Time to go.”

* * *

**Unnamed Facility**

The break-in went fine, but the tension was high. There was none of their usual banter. This mission was the most dangerous one Curt had been on, and that was finally starting to set in. They heard voices talking in the distance. Owen signaled to stay quiet.

They got to the doorway before the first bullet flew past Curt’s ear. They knew they were there.

All that followed was more bullets. Several narrowly missed both of them. Curt cocked his gun, doing his best to aim while maintaining as good of cover he could get. He got one of them, but it was somewhere non-lethal, and none of these people were ceasing fire unless absolutely necessary. Owen sprinted to better cover amidst the threats and yelling that followed Curt landing a shot, giving him a better position to shoot to kill.

The fighting continued. Bullets were flying everywhere. Curt and Owen had managed to cut down the numbers of the enemy without getting shot. After several bouts of jumping from hiding place to hiding place to knock down goon after goon, they finally believed they were done.

Then Owen made the regrettable decision of standing up.

Before either had the time to react, a bullet was embedded in Owen’s shoulder. 

“Owen!” Curt shouts, suddenly caring more about him than he ever had. He shot the attacker between the eyes and ran to him, looking at the wound.

"Let's get out of here." Owen was feigning strength, trying to maintain his smug facade. Curt ignored this, taking off his jacket and tying it around the injured shoulder, hoping that would help with the blood. It was the best he could do until they were back at the hotel.

He helped him back to where they broke in, helped get him in the taxi, and brought him straight into Curt's own room.

* * *

**Princess Sofia Hotel**

"What are you doing, Mega?"

"I'm helping you."

He removes the jacket and unbuttons Owen's shirt enough to pull it off of his shoulder. If the situation were less serious, maybe one of them would've made a joke about that.

Curt got to work immediately on removing the bullet, cleaning the wound, and getting bandages wrapped around his shoulder. As he washes the blood off of Owen's head, neck, and shoulder, Owen speaks up.

"You called me by my first name."

Curt blinks. "I guess I did."

"You've never done that before."

"It must've been because of the adrenaline." Curt says, turning his full attention to getting the alcohol wipes ready to clean out the bullet wound. Partially to maintain efficiency, mostly to hide his blush.

"Whatever you say, Curt."


	5. Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another quick warning, there is some more wound stuff going on in this chapter, specifically in the first section!

**Dacia Hotel, Romania, 1948**

Owen was laying on the floor of his hotel room, staring up at the ceiling. He listened to the water running in the shower, trying to ignore the growing guilt in his chest. He and Curt had fought off yet another group of baddies together, but unfortunately the simple get in, get out plan they had been prepared for had gone slightly awry. Curt got himself grabbed as they were making their escape. Owen had managed to shoot the cronies surrounding them, but couldn't get a good aim on the guy who had Curt without the danger of shooting them both. Curt had gotten himself stuck between a knife and a hard place, and he was bleeding in several places before he got the guy off of him and in a position Owen could shoot. He was a bloodied mess the whole walk back to the hotel. Owen couldn't stop replaying the scene in his mind, thinking about everything he could've done differently to save him. He told himself it wasn't his fault, Curt told him it wasn't his fault, and yet he still felt immeasurably guilty.

"I think it might've left a mark." Curt steps out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist but wounds unaddressed. Even with all of the excess blood washed off, the wounds looked impossibly large. Though Curt didn't say it, Owen could tell that he was asking him to wrap his wounds. Curt wasn't exactly good at wrapping his own wounds, despite the skill he had with Owen's. At this point, he expected that he was going to be dressing all of the wounds Curt carelessly gave himself. After grabbing the first-aid kit off of the sink, he sits down on the bathroom floor, gesturing for Curt to do the same.

"They really did a number on you, didn't they?" He asks, mostly to himself. He reaches into the kit, grabbing bandages and gauze. He takes hold of Curt's arm, getting ready to wrap it, but he pauses. "Curt?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you put disinfectant on these?"

No response.

"Curt, really?"

"It stings, I don't like it!"

"You were  _ stabbed,  _ doesn't that sting?"

"I don't do that willingly!"

Owen sighs, reaching into the kit yet again to grab a bottle of disinfectant and cotton wipes. He tightens his grip on Curt's arm significantly, knowing he'll try to escape if he doesn't. He opens the bottle and douses the wipe with one hand, bringing it up to the slash across his arm. "It really doesn't hurt that much." He mutters before starting to gently clean the wound. Curt tenses significantly at the feeling and Owen looks up at him. "It's alright, Curt. It's not going to hurt you."

"But it  _ is  _ hurting me." Curt winces, looking away. Owen makes an effort to finish wiping off the cut as quickly as he can, tossing the wipe aside when he finished. He grabs the roll of gauze, this time actually wrapping the wound.

“Too tight?”

“No, that’s good.”

And they continued like that, Owen moving from cut to cut, cleaning it before wrapping gauze around it, and then a layer of bandages on top of that. By the time they were finished, Curt had multiple spots across his arms covered with bandages, along with a large portion of his torso and one of his shoulders. 

Curt was about to leave to return to his own hotel room, but Owen stopped him.

“Why don’t you stay in here tonight? I want to make sure you don’t start bleeding again in the night.” Something about the near desperate look in his eyes gave Curt pause.

“I think that’s a good idea.”

Owen smiles, just barely. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to feel responsible for the death of another partner, or maybe it really was because he cared about Curt and his safety, but either way, he felt an unbelievable wave of relief wash over him.

* * *

**American Secret Service**

"I heard about what happened. You're lucky Carvour was there to save you."

"He-"

"I didn't ask. Mega, my next mission for you is to recover. You've been slipping up lately, and you're no use to anyone dead." 

"What?"

"Go relax. Buy a safe house for your mother and spend a week helping her move in there."

"Wha-"

"I've given you enough money to get her a safe house on an island. Go."

* * *

**La Désirade, Guadeloupe**

"So, Curtis, have you met any nice ladies on the job yet?"

And this was already terrible. "No, mom. Not yet." He says through his teeth. He loved his mom, he did, but she could not read between the lines if she tried, and Curt didn't have the courage to tell her the truth.

"Well, you better get on that, now that I'm so far away, I don't want you to just visit to show me the new friends you've made."

"Mom, those-" Curt sighs in resignation. He had figured out at this point that he would have to spell it out for her, throw subtlety out the window, and he wasn't ready for that yet. 

The two of them began working together, or, really, Curt worked while his mother shouted encouragingly at him to get all of the furniture into the new safe house. He spent the entire day bringing things in, moving the big things with his mother's help, and sitting on various chairs and stools while she put all of her trinkets back in their proper places. It was a long process, but they finished getting the safe house as close to a home as they could get it and the first thing his mother did was make lemonade for them in celebration. While she's in the kitchen, his watch lights up. He's unsure of who's calling him, but he picks up anyway.

"Curt, is that you?"

"Owen? Why are you calling me?"

"I was just checking to see how the recovery was going. And how your mother liked the safe house."

"The recovery is going well and- wait, how do you know about the safe house?"

"Well, who do you think told Cynthia which island to buy property on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Curt, really? Do I need to spell it out for you? You told me about your mother while we were in Argentina, remember?"

Come to think of it, Curt did remember something like that happening. "I'm surprised _you_ remembered." Owen laughs.

"Yes, well, I do usually listen when people talk."

Curt grumbles a poorly thought out retort that Owen couldn't understand. They both nearly begin a longer conversation before Curt's mother interrupts, shouting to him that the lemonade was ready.

"Well, I believe that's my cue to leave, I'll see you soon, Curt."


	6. Promises

"What the fuck do you mean he isn't with you?" 

Curt was slumped over in the chair in his hotel room. His hair was slick from sweat and blood, bags under his eyes from stress. He had been up for over twenty-four hours at this point, infiltrating a facility with Owen and escaping without him.

"I-"

"You know what? I don't care. I'm going to give you two hours to find him before I have to call MI-6 and tell them my idiot employee lost their best fucking asset."

Curt sighs as the call ends, finishing off the glass of whiskey he had gotten from the hotel bar around the second hour of Owen not coming back. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t just go back to the weapons facility they had broken into, that would be way too risky; it could only end in disaster, he was getting drunk and that place was already hard enough to traverse through. He stares blankly at the door, hoping in vain that Owen was going to miraculously appear in the doorway.

“Goddammit…” He mutters, standing up. He hated just sitting around waiting, but what else was he supposed to do? He felt like an idiot, everything seemed so preventable. If they hadn’t split up…

_ Click. _

The door unlocked. Curt looked up to find Owen standing in the doorway, looking ragged. He instantly sobered up.

“Owen, you’re-”

“You left me, Mega.”

His tone was angry, yes, but more than that it sounded so… Broken. Betrayed.

“I know, I’m sorry-”

“You knew I was still in there.”

“I know, but I-”

“No, Mega. I don’t want to hear your excuses. Don’t bother.”

“Owen, please-”

“I never said you could call me that.”

God, what had he done? They had gotten so close, how could something like this happen? If Curt could go back and undo every mistake that brought him to this point, he would in a heartbeat. He watches Owen walk into the bathroom, hearing the shower turn on. Maybe after his shower, he’d be willing to talk.

* * *

It felt like hours had passed. The shower had stopped running a long while ago, but Owen still hadn't emerged. He didn't usually take this long patching up his injuries, could something have happened? Curt stands up, nervous that Owen could be unconscious. Or worse. He knocks on the door.

"Owen?"

"What do you want, Mega?"

Okay, so he was conscious. That's good, at least. Though now he didn't know how to respond. He didn't want to ask something like 'are you okay', the answer to that was obviously no. He didn't want to ask if he wanted to talk, it was abundantly clear that Owen was not interested in talking. So instead, he caved. "Nothing. Sorry." He walks back to his chair, wishing he had more whiskey. This was miserable, he wanted to explain himself, tell him why everything happened the way it did, but it was clear Owen didn't want to listen to any of that right now. So all he could do was wait.

.

.

.

Another hour passed. It was getting harder for Curt to stay awake. Owen had left the bathroom, but he refused to look at him. Things hadn't improved. Curt was considering just going to bed and giving up when Owen suddenly speaks up.

"You left me." The anger was gone from his voice. All that was left was emptiness. Brokeness. Pain.

"I know."

"Why?" Owen was finally willing to try and talk to him. Curt took a breath, not wanting to mess this up.

"I was cornered. I was surrounded by more men than I had bullets and I had to get out. The fire escape was right beside me, it was the only choice I could think of." Owen seemed to nod, at least partially understanding why he did what he did. Better than nothing.

"Why were you so confident about splitting up?"

"I didn't realize how many reinforcements they had. I thought we could take who was left. I didn't know, I _coudln't_ know, I- I'm sorry." 

"I trusted you, Curt." Owen said his first name again. They must be getting somewhere.

"I... I know. I'm sorry. I messed up."

They sit in silence for several minutes, neither of them entirely sure what to say. There was a silent understanding that even if he wasn't ready to forgive yet, Owen was no longer mad at him. Curt finally makes his way into his bed, turning off his bedside lamp and attempting to fall asleep.

"Curt, promise me something." Owen's voice sounded far more awake than Curt could've anticipated. Far more serious.

"What is it?" He tries his best to wake himself up.

"Promise you'll never do that again. Promise me that you'll never leave me again."

"I promise, I'll never leave you like that again. I'll never abandon you."

.

.

.

_I promise._


End file.
